Why did the Dharma Bum cross the road?

        Yesterday was by far my most incredible day out here. I planned to take a jaunt on Moe's Huffy to get out of my apartment for a bit, but it turned into an odyssey as soon as I made the turn onto Cataract Creek Road.
        Cataract Creek Road is a narrow dirt road that winds its way along Cataract Creek and deep into the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest. At the entrance near Basin there's a horse ranch nestled in a lush valley that's surrounded by nothing but mountains and sky. The scenery is absolutely stunning. The further back I pedaled, the closer the road paralleled the creek until the incline began steadily climbing and became mountainside on my right and creek on my left.
        Cataract Creek at this time of year (because of the snow melt in the mountains) is a roaring, foaming, gushing body of water that tries to get down the mountains as quickly as possible. I climbed down to a place where it was accessible, and the water was ice cold. No surprise there. While I was poking around down there looking at the stones a woman appeared on the road and called down to me. In trouble again? But no, she was just going for a walk and noticed me.
        She asked me if I was from the Artist's Refuge. At this point I'm thinking: what is there a sign on my back or something? Is it really that obvious that I'm not from around here? But anyway, we got to talking and turns out she owns a store in town called Montana Dreamwear and her husband is a poet by the name of Earl E. Martin who is a Vietnam Vet and has a book out called A Poet Goes To War. I'm going to have to get my hands on a copy.
        Celeste and I had a very esoteric conversation about the creek and the mountains and the air, and she pulled out a black rosary and told me that although not Catholic anymore she still comes up here as often as possible to be spiritual. I agreed with her that it was indeed a very spiritual place. I said it felt very familiar, like I had been here before in a dream or something, and she replied that I must have an old soul. I don't know about such things, but I do know that if I lived in Basin I would be walking or biking that road as often as possible.
        When we parted ways I continued on up the road as it got steeper and steeper and finally I got to a dark cool side of the mountain that still had snow on it. I don't know how far I traveled, probably 7 or 8 miles one way, but I was gone for hours and really didn't feel a want for anything. Riding back was all down hill, a tad scary on the ole' Huffy with the weak breaks and no suspension, but it got the job done and I wasn't even conked in the head by any falling rocks.
        I'll try to get some pictures up the next time I go, I forgot to bring my camera.